


Make Me Lovely

by ClutchHedonist



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Anal Sex, Body Image, Canon-Typical Violence, First Time, Frottage, Kylo Ren Needs a Hug, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Self Harm, OCD Hux, Oral Sex, Sex, Sexual Tension, Squabbling, Virgin Kylo Ren, these two are petty little shits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 13:48:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6959173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClutchHedonist/pseuds/ClutchHedonist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It's always the collarbones, the peak of the shoulders that cause it. Today, the feel of one grinding against his arm, slender and sharp despite the General's generously padded jacket. The silent, slow burning is building in Kylo's stomach as he storms the length of the hall. </i>
</p>
<p>  <i>*Enough.* He always insists at first. The admonition is as effective now as it has ever been. He gives a frustrated groan and changes course away from the bridge, ducks down an adjoining hallway towards his own quarters.</i></p>
<p>Kylo Ren and Hux's growing relationship, as told through a series of snapshots focusing on body image and physical contact, illustrated by http://boredbyreality.tumblr.com :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make Me Lovely

**Author's Note:**

> Major thanks to the Kylux Big Bang crew for putting all of this fun together, and to Phil (http://boredbyreality.tumblr.com) for all the incredible illustrations (more than one!! *_*) for this fic! :) My tumblr is the same as my A03, if you're looking for someone to nerd out with and or a dumpster fire of a person who is aaaallllwaaaayyyssss taking Kylux drabble prompts.

Nose. Ears. Spots. Pallor.  
  
Should the paleness come before the birthmarks? Maybe the ears should be first.   
  
Lips purse into a narrow frown as Ben tilts his chin up in the mirror, slides a few fingers over the length of his nose in profile. No, it's definitely the worst. There's no doubt, not when you see it from the side. He gives a thin huff and falls back into bed.  
  
" _A Jedi's appearance is inconsequential_." Luke had said when he'd caught Ben scowling himself in the meditation pools.  
  
He scoffs. Probably easy when you're blonde and blue eyed. When every part of you isn't some sort of awkward, grotesque angle threatening to peer out from beneath the hems of your rapidly-more ill fitting clothing at the slightest provocation.   
  
Before his eyes even fall onto his hands, knitted together atop his chest, he's cursing the size and shape of his knuckles. The overlong hands themselves. The cluster of birthmarks hiding just beneath them on his chest - always bare during inspections like these.  
  
Inspections. That's what Ben likes to call it. Easier to be honest when it's just a thing he's inspecting. It never passes.   
  
His father called him vain, once, on a visiting weekend. An hour of hopelessly pushing a mess of dark curls this way and that, and how could they be so late for dinner, and Ben was so vain, such a goddamned teenager, such a little princess. Ben could hear Leia hiss at this, could almost see her beyond the bathroom door, gripping Han's wrist when she spat a short, firm, "Enough."  
  
He isn't. He's not. What would he even have to be vain about? He looks down over the smooth valley between his ribs and his hips. The utterly mediocre dusting of hair on his chest. Sneers.  
  
" _A Jedi's appearance is inconsequential_."  
  
At least it'll be easy for him to keep from forming attachments.  


***  
  
A properly fitted dress uniform collar touches the skin, but does not constrict. It allows one finger to be placed between collar and skin without stretching or pulling. Vertical shoulder seams must rest at the peak of the scapula, without twisting or distortion of the seam. No billowing or wrinkles around buttonholes. Waistbands should sit at the top of the hipbone, just below the navel.  
  
Should sit at the hipbone, just above the navel.  
  
Sit at the hipbone.  
  
Sit.  
  
At the hipbone.  
  
Hux curses, dragging his trousers up once more, unfastening and re-fastening them. Stay. Just stay, damnit. Just-  
  
They drop down off the curves of his hips about an inch or so, and he groans. This cannot be right. This is unacceptable. Father's tailor took the measurements for his New Academy uniform, sent them directly to the depart of Uniform and Insignia, it should fit. Why doesn't it fit?  
  
A small whine escapes him as he searches for another clasp, somewhere deeper along the waistband, somewhere that he's somehow missed.   
  
Father would never have allowed the tailor to send improper measurements. Father would never employ a tailor who took improper measurements. When Hux was eight, he had arrived home from fencing with grass stains on both knees. They had faded much more quickly than the welts that they earned him from Brendol's belt.  
  
He struggles with the waistband for another minute, tenses the slight muscles in his stomach to attempt to hold it in place. Fruitless. Feeble.  
  
In the bathroom sink, he sets the hot water tap open, bites down on his bottom lip and washes his hands once, twice, thrice, again under its scalding flow. Feeble, feeble, feeble.  


***

  
Hux has been standing at the edge of the landing strip for seventeen minutes by the time the Upsilon-class command shuttle touches down at Starkiller Base. Has been awake for twenty-eight, since the voice of the Supreme Leader in his mind rang him from sleep just before dawn. He motions to the two snowtroopers behind him to stay back and strides forward as the loading ramp hisses open. Salutes instinctively, bicep precisely horizontal to the ground.  
  
The figure descending the ramp pauses at the sight of him. Hux, too, squints behind the man, searching out Snoke's figure but finding it missing. The officer lets his hand fall to his side once more.  
  
By height alone, he's male, if he's human. All signs would point to it. Bipedal, two-armed, five fingered. But the mask...  
  
"I was told to expect the Supreme Leader." Hux speaks up as the man reaches the bottom of the ramp.  
  
"I'm his apprentice." When it filters through the slats of the helmet, the voice is low, almost melodic. Younger than Hux had expected. Although at twenty four, he imagines that those instructed to meet with the newly-appointed General might find him young for their tastes as well.  
  
Kylo is well aware of the extra two inches of height that he has over this man. He uses them to the best of his ability to mask the lank uncertainty in his body as he shifts his weight between feet. The slender redhead's posture remains unchanged, impeccable, and Kylo grits his teeth beneath the mask.  
  
"Your landing clearance codes were in order." Hux notes in slow, practiced meter, "My men will see to it that you are provided with command quarters." He half-nods as he steps back and begins towards the pair of troopers, "And then, I imagine you will have a briefing from the Supreme Leader?"  
  
"I am to operate from this base to continue my training." Ren replies, "I have received no further briefing."  
  
Hux glances back over his shoulder, eyes narrowing, "...I see."  
  
Kylo curls his fingers against the tide of cold judgement that washes over him from Hux's mind. Reminds himself of who, what he has become, no matter how recently. That this General cannot see the nineteen year-old behind the mask, cannot observe his weak chin as added evidence for his rapidly souring opinion.   
  
At the gate into the base proper, Hux steps up onto a transport platform.  
  
"My men will take you from here." He informs Ren, "You may call upon them if there is anything you require."  
  
Kylo nods, stamps out the waver in his voice before responding.  
  
"This is acceptable."  
  
Hux lifts his chin, reaches down from the platform to offer Ren a hand, "Welcome to Starkiller Base."  
  
Ben- Kylo, Kylo now, he's finally done what was needed to earn his freedom from Ben- curses internally upon realizing that he's reaching up to this man, now, to shake his pristine hand. He shakes nonetheless.  
  
It's only after the transport has sped off that he realizes that the General never bothered to ask his name.  
  
***  
  
Father had always been interested in the psychology of leadership. This had provided Hux with a font of minor trivia about animal hierarchies. Velkers devour the smallest of their chicks shortly after hatching, herds of iriaz abandon sickly members in the deserts, male krayt dragons destroy the nests of other males, countless facts on feral dominance rituals.  
  
The platform in front of Supreme Leader Snoke's holodais has become the site of hundreds - by now perhaps thousands - of silent, infinitely small wars. Today, Hux has arrived first. He estimates that he is six inches to the left of perfectly central placement. Not ideal positioning, to be sure, but far enough to the right to convey proper station.  
  
With a pressurized hiss, Ren sweeps through the door behind him, begins down the length of platform to the dais. Hux is a statue, a suit of plate mail, motionless with eyes forward and hands at his side. He can feel the taller man's steps pause just behind his right heel.  
  
Kylo waits for a moment, glances down over the General. Is Hux receiving some sort of message via earbud, that he hasn't heard that he's-  
  
No.  
  
No, Hux is perfectly aware of his presence. Beneath the mask, Kylo can feel his cheeks reddening, and his lips pull back into a tight scowl. He would, wouldn't he? How dare he be so petty? What sort of childish-  
  
The holoemitter flickers to life. Kylo steps forward immediately, his shoulder tight against Hux's. He can feel the length of the redhead's arm tense against his own.  
  
Even as he salutes, Hux's nostrils flare. Indignant fury descends over his chest, turning every nerve into a wailing klaxon. Ren's cloak fluttering at his wrist. The peak of Ren's shoulder bone, sharper than Hux might have anticipated it, pressing into the flesh just above his. Against his bicep, Ren's coiled arm, just as tremulous with rage as his own.  
  
With his Master already beginning his address, there is no way Kylo can move now. Hux can just-...can just slither back to his own side of the platform. But the General is vice-tight against him. Through the slats of his mask, Kylo can almost smell the gaberwool of Hux's greatcoat, newly glistening with a hint of the snow that never seems to stop falling just outside the base doors. Before he can stop himself, Kylo half wonders what brought Hux outside, imagines the thin man's cheeks ruddy with cold. Tears the thought from himself before he can concentrate on it, chooses to seethe instead. Hux's righteous indignation bleeds into him, electrifying every inch of his skin, aiding him in burning away the briefly-held image.  
  
When Hux falls to one knee, Kylo feels the breath hitch in his chest. His gaze flickers over the kneeling redhead, up to Snoke's expectant countenance, and he quickly follows suit. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see a frown crease Hux's lips.  
  
The General is quick to rise first when the light of the holoemitter dies. Kylo hears the faintest of clicks as Hux's knuckles brush against his helmet with the motion. A growl catches in his throat when he finds himself kneeling beneath the other man's fingers. A few sharp motions put him back on his feet, although he's forced to duck out of the way to avoid knocking into Hux - feet still planted, down to the centimeter - on the way up.  
  
Hux can almost smell Ren glowering beneath the mask. He can only watch the tall silhouette stalk back half the length of the platform before the corner of his mouth pricks up.  
  
***  
  
It's always the collarbones, the peak of the shoulders that cause it. Today, the feel of one grinding against his arm, slender and sharp despite the General's generously padded jacket. The silent, slow burning is building in Kylo's stomach as he storms the length of the hall.   
  
_Enough._ He always insists at first. The admonition is as effective now as it has ever been. He gives a frustrated groan and changes course away from the bridge, ducks down an adjoining hallway towards his own quarters.   
  
His pulse is thudding in his throat before he's halfway there. He curses beneath his breath as his mind paints out the dip between delicate clavicles, flushes it as red as he's certain his own skin has become.  
  
There is no more loathsome person than Hux. Of this, Kylo has become increasingly sure. Pompous, haughty, condescending. If he could, Kylo is certain he would grind the knight beneath the heel of his b-  
  
The line of thought becomes immediately unhelpful.  
  
"Fuck." He hisses in relief as the door to his chambers slides open. With a few taps on the control panel, he shuts and locks it behind himself. His fingers have barely left the screen before they strike the pressure releases on his helmet. It thuds to the floor just inside the door, and then they're scrabbling at his belt, prying away his surcoats and tunic. The first whisper of air on skin as he frees his desperate hardness from the layers of fabric makes him shudder hard enough to rattle the door.  
  
There isn't even enough time to make it to the bed before he's gripping himself, the other hand fisted into his hair. The door becomes responsible for more and more of his weight as he sinks his teeth into his bottom lip to stifle a whimper. Oh, hells. The hollow of his neck, long and slim and pale, and unbearably small, sharp hips, and that spot, that gods damned spot between his collarbones where Kylo could bury his tongue and feel the heat of it-  
  
Kylo shoves his face into his shoulder as the image drags a groan from his throat. Damnit, damnit, damnit, damnit. Why? But tasting him just there, lapping at that perfect juncture- he's coming, already and hard, spasming into his own palm. His shoulders rock back against the door in waves as it floods over him. Fuck. _Fuck._  Is he making noise? He has to be, the way it's wringing him out. But he can't even hear.  
  
When he can, it's a high, tinny drone in his ears. Then, the sound of his own ragged breathing. He swallows and steadies himself against the door.   
  
This has to be it. This has to be the last time. There's no more room for...this. Whatever this is. It's finished, it's done. It has to be. He cringes as he glances down at his palm, smears it savagely against the top of his thigh. Enough. Enough.  
  
***  
  
"Enough, Ren!" Hux snaps. He can feel the strands of every muscle tight, fists curled at his side. The leather of his gloves creaks with the force of it.  
  
Above the crackling hum of his lightsaber, the knight's panting is audible. Ren stands over the obliterated console with chest heaving, stooped and -Hux can only imagine- glowering. Something in his throat rattles with each breath, raw from overuse.   
  
"What is it now?" Hux sniffs over the tension in both of their bodies. In the some two years since Ren's assignment to the Order (or adjacent to the Order, as Hux reassures himself during moments like these), Hux has found nothing that severs the man from his flights of rage as cleanly as perceived detachment. The General crosses his arms over his chest, forces his mouth into a thin line. He brushes away the sensation of disquieting familiarity that this expression stirs up within him. It is a useful tool, no matter its origin.  
  
A few moments of rattling quiet pass between them, and then the line drains out of Ren's shoulders. Hux gives a small huff of satisfaction.  
  
"You." Ren grates, grip still tight on his saber.  
  
"Me." Hux quirks an eyebrow, moving to step forward.  
  
Kylo whirls on him, and only the General's honed instinct for self-preservation throws him back far enough to keep both hands as the lightsaber blade scores into the ground between them.  
  
"Ah. This is..." Hux's nostrils flare, "This is about me personally, then."  
  
"About you?" Kylo barks, "No, General, this is about what you have taken from me. What you have stolen."  
  
He watches the General's face, eyes narrow behind the slats of his helmet, for confirmation, and scans the surface of the man's mind for hints of guilt, awareness. Nothing.   
  
"Stolen?" Hux's brows cant, "I cannot recall ever stealing anything from you, Ren. That would betray the Supreme Leader's confidence in me." He bites back - barely - on a quip about Ren's episodes doing the same.  
  
Kylo goes rigid nonetheless as the barb flickers between them in Hux's mind. He swallows once, hard, and the lines of red across his helmet disappear as the saber blade extinguishes.   
  
"How long have you known?" He grinds his teeth at the trembling edge in his voice.  
  
"Known what, Ren?" Hux questions.  
  
"Known who I-" No, no. That lays claim to it, "...How long have you had a dossier on me?" One long arm points back towards the destroyed console.  
  
Hux blinks, then lets out a short snort, "A dossier on you? Information? Is that what you think I've stolen from you?"  
  
"It isn't yours to know!"  
  
"I am a General, Ren." Hux cannot help but roll his eyes, "Any information regarding personnel on my base is mine to kn-"  
  
The wind bursts out of his lungs at the force of Ren's impact, slamming him back against the bulkhead. The taller man's hands on his shoulders pin him there, and Hux gulps for breath.   
  
"How long?" Kylo snarls.  
  
Hux's eyes are wide beneath him, lighter and greener than Kylo has ever seen them before. His mouth twists, but clings with teeth onto the answer to Kylo's query. Despite panting, the redhead forces the expression from his face after a few moments, levels his gaze into Kylo's visor.   
  
"Unhand me." He orders, sharp, barely above a whisper.  
  
Kylo's breath is short beneath his mask. He can feel the rush of red in his own cheeks, matching the color of the General's. Under his unmoving palms, Kylo can feel Hux digging his heels into the ground.  
  
"Tell me." Kylo grates. His thumbs sink into the flesh under Hux's collarbone, and he forces the man more tightly against the wall.   
  
Hux's face contorts. Even with the entirety of his strength steeled, the full weight of his body pressing back against Ren's bruising grip, he can't force a gap between the back of his shoulders and the wall. There is no amount of practice that can steady his breathing, no sudden well of force to draw from. He is withdrawn, suddenly and starkly, from galactic threat into a frame that fails to meet regulation stormtrooper weight.

"Since four days after you arrived." He hisses bitterly, "Does that satisfy you, you mongrel?"  
  
Kylo reels back. Since-? How could he have possibly known? Where did he even-? He's halfway through a growl when Hux jabs a finger into his chest.  
  
"And you'll be very glad to know, Ren-" Another stab, fierce against Kylo's sternum, "-that this information is much better concealed now that it is in my possession." Hux straightens and brushes off his jacket, nose wrinkled as if Kylo's touch had somehow dirtied the fabric.  
  
"You-"   
  
Hux can piece together the other man's surprise from the tilt of his head, "-Buried it? Of course I did. As best as one can bury so theatrical an exit. Now-" He presses the back of one hand to the side of Kylo's shoulder, "-if you would be so kind as to remove yourself from my path."   
  
Kylo allows himself to be mutely shifted, and Hux skirts by him. Mouth tight and small, the General clasps his hands behind his back. He spares the briefest of glances over one shoulder, color still high in his cheeks. Kylo can feel something within the other man's mind uncurl towards him for only a moment before Hux scowls and turns decisively down the hall.  
  
He makes it the full length of the trip to his office without breaking the strict line of his back. As the door hums shut, the breath finally shudders up out of him. He slumps into his desk chair and pushes one gloved hand back through his hair. Impudent, ridiculous, hysterical gods damned _child-_  
  
Hux swallows, rubs at the now-tender spot just between his clavicle. Absurd. That anyone, _anyone_ should think that they have the right to lay hands on him-  
  
Utterly absurd.  
  
His thumb lingers against the spot nonetheless.  


***  
  
The Raioballo sector is, without question, a calculated risk. Even in the Outer Rim, Hux is certain that the Republic will have eyes in place to report breaches of the Concordance. Worse, murmurs of a private force sheltered by the Republic have grown into a roar during the past year. Recent confirmation of intelligence pointing to General Leia Organa as the head of this cell had cost the Order a small fortune, both in spies and subsequent damage to Ren's quarters.  
  
Still, Dantooine has enough history of Alliance occupation that those Empire citizens displaced by it might prove pliant to suggestions of Order membership. Hux reminds himself of this the first time his boots sink an inch and a half into the green silt of the river's edge. His guide, a spindly human vassal of one of the few old Imperial houses to respond to the Order's hails, cringes.  
  
"F-forgive me, sir, should h-have mentioned...tidal season, and-..."   
  
Hux waves one gloved hand to cut him off. The man falls silent and casts a nervous glance over the General's right shoulder. This rancher, Hux is fairly certain, has never been exposed to anything quite like Ren, despite his proximity to House Kaine. A small, grim smile plays of Hux's lips. He isn't entirely certain that anyone but himself has had the distinct displeasure of something like Ren.  
  
"How much farther is the house?" Hux questions.   
  
"Oh! Not much more than a mile, sir!" Their guide - Hux vaguely remembers his name to begin with something like "An" or "Am" - assures him, "Mistress Kaine apologizes for not permitting the shuttle to land closer, but the Dantari are on the move during the rainy seasons, and with all of their old suspicions-"  
  
Kylo bites back on a sigh beneath his helmet. Of all of the stone dull assignments he has had to bear, diplomatic sorties at the General's side are the most cloying. A few pebbles skip in the wake of Kylo's footsteps, lifted and dropped by the Force as he follows Hux's sharp, hurried gait. The tangible distress rolling off the guide's mind is a small comfort in his boredom.   
  
The grassy planes along the riverbed melt into thorny nests of blba trees a few hundred meters from their trail. The plumes of some sort of bird glisten with dark, purplish blood among the top spikes of one. Kylo's nose wrinkles at the impaled creature. It thrashes once, twice before stilling. Kylo can sense tiny pinpricks of life in the Force - snails, he realizes after a few moments of reaching out with his mind's fingertips - as they begin their slow march along the branches towards the body. Still with hands wrapped among the threads of the Force, Kylo can feel the last bits of life drain from the bird, escape from among the trees and into the open air.  
  
When he feels the knot of life deeper among the branches, it is without a moment to spare. His own fingers feel the trigger being pulled, and he yanks on the threads around Hux's body so quickly that the man's boot heels leave deep welts in the riverbank.  
  
Hux's strangled cry of surprise as he's dragged backwards towards Ren coincides with the utter vaporization of half their rancher guide's torso. Hux manages - barely - to shut his mouth before an explosion of blood and pulverized viscera momentarily blinds him. A slug. A physical slug, not the piercing light of a blaster bolt. Hollow point, if the spatter is any indicator. He can hear Ren curse behind him as he drags a sleeve over his the mess obscuring his eyes and drops, rolling into the grass.  
  
Kylo growls aloud, scrabbling at his visor. In his mind, he can feel the sniper go still, pause to reassess targets. His gloves only serve to smear the farmer's remains over the viewing pane of the helmet, and Kylo curses. There isn't time. There will be another shot, and this time, he'll be on the receiving end. With a roar, he tears the mask up over his head.  
  
Hux's eyes are clear enough to make out a mess of dark hair as it unfurls, and then the helmet thuds into the silt beside him. Ren's long legs sprint into the grass, and Hux loses sight of him after a moment. Frozen, Hux allows only his eyes to flicker over his surroundings. The grass, tall as it is, is acceptable cover if he intends to remain immobile. But to extract himself...the dirt is too wet from the rains to kick up adequate dust. He supposes that his blaster could be overloaded to cause enough smoke to at least disrupt a perfect shot. Or-  
  
He glances up over his head once more, searches for motion in the grass. Nothing. The helmet lays inert near his temple. Nearly a minute of further waiting, painful in its length, brings the sound of crunching among the blba branches, a litany of cursing carrying on the wind. There is a snarl, the snapping of branches, a shout, a shot. Nothing.  
  
Hux can feel his pulse in his motionless fingertips. He manages a swallow, then curses even the minute sound it causes. Footfalls in the mud, growing nearer. Too close for a scope, now. He allows one hand to skim down his hip to his blaster. Closer. Nearly upon him.  
  
In one sharp motion, Hux rolls onto his back, leveling the blaster at the man above him. Dark eyes widen in surprise, and Hux hears a sharp intake of breath through the long, aquiline nose.  
  
"Hux." Kylo lifts one hand, and the blaster’s barrel twists into formless metal. Hux stutters out a gasp.  
  
"...Ren?"   
  
He can't be more than twenty two, twenty three. Thin scrapes from blba bristles stand out against pale skin, prominent cheekbones, a sharp brow. Hux watches the color rise in the other man's cheeks as a long moment of silent observation passes between them. The sudden flush highlights the flecks of small, dark birthmarks.   
  
Ren reaches out a hand, and it takes Hux a few seconds to use it to haul himself to his feet.  
  
"The sniper?" He asks as he straightens.  
  
"Dead." Ren notes, "Republic weaponry. We'll need to be quick here. We aren't alone."  
  
His voice is lighter without the modulator, clearer. Hux nods, watching him as he stoops to retrieve the helmet. Ren frowns down at it as he smudges away the blood with the frayed edge of his cowl. A small nod. The helmet slides into place once more, half-imitates a breath as it hisses shut.  
  
"Let's go."   
  
The edge, the depth, is back, and it snaps Hux to his senses once more. He gives a nod in agreement, lips pursing as he gingerly steps over the mangled body of the rancher.  
  
***  
  
Hux glances into the mirror for the fourth time to re-check that his evening dress uniform is immaculate. Red waistcoat pressed and tailored beneath black evening coat. Pleats crisp in black trousers, clean as the red stripe along the sides. Breast, cuff, and shoulder insignia in place and straightened. His boots have been shined so that even the pinpricks of light reflected in the polish are identical.  
  
Sliding his evening cloak over one shoulder, he sweeps from the room provided him. The Acclamator-class  _Triumph_  is a relic at this point, a prize captained by various members of the Pandion dynasty during the clone and civil wars. Still, the family has refurbished her at least twice since her acquisition, and Hux's quarters have proved more than adequate. That they once provided shelter to Imperial officers is a pleasant comfort.   
  
They are close, now, achingly so, to restoring that lost order. Close enough that muttered words exchanged in ancient homes and cantina back rooms have become catered affairs, presentations of honorary rank. Galas.  
  
The strains of the chamber orchestra reach him from halfway down the hall. Mondegrene, Fugue in K. A small smile pricks at the corner of Hux's mouth. Two stormtroopers pull back the double doors of the re-equipped galley as he strides towards them.  
  
This, when he had struggled with blackened hands to repair the failing conservator in their cramped matchbox of a backwater apartment, was what Father had known would someday be theirs again. All of this. The orchestra. The enormous bay window gazing out onto Malastare, framing the grey, swirling orb in lush red drapery. The white gloves against polished silver and crystal flecked with the blue-green light of both the planet’s moons. Hux has barely descended the stairs into the hall before he’s swept into a conversation about potential sector governorships. 

Had the Commandant lived to see it, Hux is nearly certain that there would be some small imperfection to explain, some minute detail under code. His own eyes pick it out almost as quickly as Brendol's imagined scrutiny. Ren is a blot of matte, faded black, his usual robes a muted stain against the curtains. Hux tucks away a huff into a sip of Correllian reserve. A snifter and a half later, he manages – just barely – to keep from rolling his eyes in front of a distant Caerbellak cousin when the man sweeps over to meet him.

“General.” The voice is flat, languid through the modulator.

 “Miss Caerbellak, please, do excuse me.” Hux offers his best doleful smile to the dark-eyed woman, “And again, your most thoughtful gift for this evening is appreciated.”

 “She gave you a gift?” Ren questions as Hux leads him from the main floor towards one of the small, standing tables positioned at the side of it.

 “Her family supplied the Order with the Rydonnian spicewine for this evening.” Hux tells him, “Is this really what you interrupted my conversation for, Ren? To inquire as to the wine list?”

“Leader Snoke has ordered that I am to be assigned to you for the evening.” The taller man reports.

Hux drains the last belt of his brandy, fingers plucking a fresh glass from the passing catering staff without so much as a glance, “There is a full platoon of troopers within earshot.”

“You would question the Supreme Leader’s orders?”

“I would not.” Hux snaps, “Merely whether or not carrying them out requires you directly by my side. Your social graces leave much to be desired.”

“You can’t stand it, either.” Kylo murmurs.

Hux sniffs, “I cannot stand what, Ren?”

“These people. These affairs. Stagnant. Wasteful.”

“Necessary.” The redhead frowns, but the expression melts instantly from his face as an elderly couple moves past the table in a flurry of enthusiastic greetings.

“They find you overambitious.” Kylo notes once they’ve passed.

Hux snorts and straightens the tablecloth, takes another sip, “I don’t need a mind reader to tell me that; they’re Balfours.” He replies, “If the Order patrolled a fraction less of the Llanic system, they’d live off their spice route until the day they died, no matter what sort of cesspool the galaxy became.” 

“They’re afraid you’ll seize it.”

“Do all psychics specialize in the particularly obvious?” 

Kylo’s body tightens, and fingers curl into fists. Something in Hux’s feedback has become faintly blurred. The corner of the General’s mouth pricks up.

“You’re easier than you think, you know.” He tells the taller man, “Even with the helmet.”

“What?” The slow heat rising in Kylo’s cheeks is beginning to match the faint darkening in Hux’s

“To read.” Hux sips once more, then sets the glass down. A gloved thumb presses at the rim, “You think that it’s some sort of…some sort of supernatural gift that only you have. But it’s all very simple.”

“Simple.” Kylo repeats, and the modulator hisses with the grating in his voice. Hux’s eyebrows cant, lips pursing, and Kylo storms internally that this single word, these meager syllables, have somehow betrayed him to the other man.

“You see?” Hux quips, arching an eyebrow, “I don’t require your ‘powers’. I don’t even need to see your face.” He bites down into the last words, and something catches in Kylo’s chest as the General leans a fraction of an inch closer. Hux presses onward, “And you think you’re hiding, don’t you? In this bulwark of yours-“ 

Hux’s fingertips stretch out towards the mask. Kylo’s stomach churns as he fails to prevent them from gliding over the surface in a careless brush.

“-Like reading through glass.” The General smirks into his drink once more. 

The force of Kylo’s fist thudding against the table makes Hux’s elbow jump. Dark droplets of liquor leap over the rim of the snifter. In the half-breath before their impact, Kylo considers freezing them there, shivering in the air between the two of them. Then, they spatter onto Hux’s lapels.

The General’s gaze falls to his shirt, then sweeps the room. A swell in the quartet’s soaring Igern arrangement seems to have swallowed the sound of Ren’s fistfall, even at nearby tables.

“Pig.” Hux hisses. His narrowed eyes leave Kylo to shake a handkerchief free from his breast pocket and press it to the dampened shirt. When he pulls it away, dark splotches of red remain in the fabric. Hux’s mouth twists. Kylo has a fraction of a moment to duck after him as the redhead skirts the edge of the crowd and makes for the door. 

“Puerile, incompetent-“ Hux is huffing as they break into the hall, still shoving the handkerchief into his lapels as if they’d been bloodied.

“Hux-“ Kylo tries.

The General whirls on him to bark a clipped, “Don’t.” as he stabs the keycode into his accommodations’ control panel. Hux’s cheeks are ruddy when Kylo steps into the stateroom after him.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He snaps.

“The Supreme Leader-“

Hux lets out a small groan, but turns away towards the bathroom mirror. He unclasps his cloak, shrugs it from his shoulder, and hangs it on the rack on the back of the door. Then, his fingers flit over the buttons on his jacket and waistcoat. Each is meticulously folded when he dips back through the door to lay them on the bed.

“What are you-“ Kylo begins.

“It’ll stain.” Hux cuts him off, “I only brought one evening dress uniform, I didn’t expect-“ His mouth tightens, and his eyes pierce into Kylo in a way that siphons the taller man’s breath from him, “- _this._ ”

The shirt is only half-open when Hux throws open the tap once, twice, thrice, again. By the time he squirms out of the rest of it and peels away his gloves, the steam from the water has fogged the mirror. Kylo watches a droplet condense in the hollow of the redhead’s neck. The pale flesh of Hux’s hands grows red beneath the spray, fisted into the fabric of the shirt.

Hux’s mind is a hurricane in Kylo’s temples. The knight tells himself that massaging at that ache is the only reason he’s removing his helmet. When it’s discarded on the bedside table, he shoves his fingertips against his temples to blot out the growing howl of  _no wrong wrong one two three four wrongnotenough one two three four no stop it stop it._ Something is gripping his chest, winding around his ribs and knitting them closer and closer together as it shrieks and bucks. It takes Kylo three strides to cover the distance between himself and Hux, and then his hands are wrapped around the smaller man’s biceps, and he turns him so forcefully that the motion drags a stuttering gasp with it.

“ _Stop it._ ” Kylo grinds through clenched teeth.

Hux’s lip curls at the sudden contact, but he freezes in Kylo’s grip, “Stop what?”

“That… _that._ ” His fingers are digging into Hux’s skin, now, somehow intangibly unable to still him, “The-...the washing, the fours, the-“

Kylo can feel the thing in Hux’s chest go rigid as the General’s eyes widen. Hux’s mind against his is like the high, even ringing left behind after an explosion. Then, Hux’s sharp knuckles connect with his jaw. Kylo gives a stilted yelp.

“ _Bastard._ ” The redhead snarls as Kylo drops him, “Get out of me! Out! Do you understand?! Out!” His reddened palms are shoving Kylo, still wide-eyed and half-deafened, back into the bathroom wall, the water still rushing in the sink behind him.

One hand freezes in the air, claw-like, near Kylo's face, and Hux gives an indignant growl. The redhead struggles in Kylo's intangible grip for a moment before stilling, a shudder passing through his small frame. The anger radiates off of Hux's mind in a thousand tiny whorls, grasping and pressing at Kylo's own consciousness. His pulse pounds in his split lip. The space between Hux's collarbones pitches with the force of his breath, and Kylo knows that Hux can see him watching it when the General's brow furrows.

"Release me." Hux hisses low in his throat. His eyes are greener with the mask missing from the space between them

With a small motion in a few fingertips, Kylo unwinds the ineffable threads binding Hux's wrist. It slips from the air, and Hux massages at it while his gaze bores into the knight. His knuckles are already beginning to bruise beneath the smears of Kylo's blood.

"Stay out of my head." The General spits. A drop of red hangs just under Ren's chin. It shivers free as the taller man takes a step forward, is lost in the dark fabric of his cowl.

"I don't need to listen to hear you screaming." Kylo grunts.

Hux shifts back against the sink, mouth set tight against the flush that flows over him. With another step, Ren is in front of him. Hux's eyes graze the man's purpling lip. He manages a minute smirk.

"You can't predict everything, I think." He blames the faint haze of brandy for the boldness of his thumb as it smears across the wound. When Ren flinches beneath it, Hux's gaze returns to his. The knight's dilated pupils eclipse all but a sliver of brown. Hux can feel a held breath ghost over his knuckles.

He tastes blood before anything else registers in his senses. Warmth, pressure, and Ren's mouth is on his, sudden and reckless. Hux drags in a gasp as their teeth click. His hands scrabble up over the taller man's chest, and a startled, "What?!" is lost into Ren's mouth as it devours his own. 

When he bites down on Ren's lower lip, the stutter of a groan he receives in return sets something burning along the length of his spine. His tongue urges at the bruising flesh, and the knight's fingers dig into his hipbones so deep that Hux imagines himself shattering beneath the pressure. Against his thigh, Ren's hardness is already straining against his trousers. 

Hux reaches up to seize a fistful of dark hair and yanks. Kylo's knees buckle, and Hux knits his second hand into the tangled locks as well.

"Cur..." The General snarls as he brings him to his knees. 

Kylo feels his cock begin to leak. His cheek is forced up against Hux's thigh as the other man drags him forward by the hair. Beneath the tight uniform slacks, the outline of Hux's mounting arousal is barely out of reach. Kylo's battered mouth grows wet at the thought of it. His eyes dart up to the redhead's, brows knitted, pleading.

"You think that you deserve this?" Hux rasps, "All your snarling and sulking and ridiculous, miserable-"

"Please."

Hux's voice drops back down his throat. A few labored breaths pass quietly between them. Then, Hux's fingers unwind.

Kylo forces in a strained breath as he fumbles with the zipper on the redhead's slacks. His mind's fingers sift through Hux's thoughts, memories, whatever he can reach as he frees the man's length. When he was younger, family friends had called the speed at which he learned precocious. Han had called it cheating. But a more experienced mind is a resource. And from Hux's, Kylo carefully siphons everything he can before sliding his lips over the head of the General's cock.

It's the way that the long, slender throat trembles as Hux fucks down into it that gives it away. Green eyes sweep over the color in the knight's cheeks, the way his fingers crook around the base of his length.

Ren has never done this before.

"This is your first time." Hux breathes through his teeth.

Ren's eyes flick up to his, and, alongside a rising blush, he forces himself to swallow more of the redhead's length. A groan pours from Hux's mouth as his head drops back. He allows himself a few more moments with his hands fisted into Ren’s dark hair, pushing into his throat, before he drags himself back.

“Get in the bed.”

 

   
***

Hux wakes earlier when he hasn't set an alarm than when he has. The idea of losing a morning, the time slipping through his fingers before he has a chance to shape it into something worthwhile, pushes against his eyelids before his quarters' automated daylight cycle is barely begun. His limbs register the warm weight against them with slow but mounting certainty, and he pulls Ren's long arm around himself more tightly.

Ren murmurs something against the shell of his ear, then stills once more. Hux pushes back against him and gazes over the man's familiar knuckles in the half-light. There's a freckle just under the base of his thumb, one of what Hux can only guess are hundreds that fleck the knight's body. Hux grazes it with his teeth. 

A long sigh rustles the hair behind his ear. Ren's lips bump against Hux's jaw as Hux attempts to peer back at him. There are times, mornings after they've had one another, that Hux's consciousness pulls Ren into waking beside him. That Ren is this close, asleep, is rare. 

Hux pulls his shoulders in to turn and face him. Dark brows furrow for a moment, and Hux goes still. Then, as the expression smooths, he lets one set of fingers rest along the edge of the other man's jaw. His thumb traces back over the shell of Ren's ear.

  
In half an hour, perhaps a tad more, he'll untangle himself from Ren's arms. The shower will be chilly in comparison. Ren will groan and mutter and sleep again, once or twice, before Hux will roll his eyes and peel the blankets off of him. Ren will stumble into the rumpled assortment of clothing on the floor as Hux selects the day's apparel from the thin drawers set into the wall. There are days that he only makes it halfway before Ren is on him again, mouth warm against the spot between his neck and shoulder, and Hux will manage - barely - to re-fold the clothes as Ren pulls them off again. 

Ren's lips purse around a soft "mmm", and Hux's gaze flicks up to his eyes. The dark irises become narrowly visible between the lashes. Hux's eyelids fall shut. His hand stills at Ren's cheek. 

There is a long, slow breath. The bridge of Ren's nose nudges up under Hux's jaw, and Hux allows his head to be tilted back. He gives a small grumble as the other man's lips push into the hollow of his neck.

"Go to sleep." He murmurs irritably.

Ren huffs, obeys.

  
***  
  
The air is cold enough that each breath Hux manages to drag in is jagged, almost sweet through his teeth. A tremor - coming closer together, now, hurry - pitches his frame into a nearby evergreen and he curses as he stumbles to right himself in the snow. A tug at his greatcoat, one set of shaking fingers back through his hair, hat lost hours - minutes - ago into one of the great maws gaping open in the planet's surface.  
  
All he has is Snoke's assurance that he's out here somewhere, alive, not yet swallowed up by the earth. There wasn't time for snowtroopers, and the speeder bike had become useless as the pine forest tightened and roiled, had been abandoned a hundred or so meters back. Something in the back of his mind gives a cry of reprimand; the Supreme Leader's word should be enough to quell this unexpected fear. Still, his stomach churns as he plunges onward through the snow.  
  
"Ren!"   
  
All Officers at the Academy had been required to study elocution, how to project one’s voice. The name still strains his throat as it rips out into the snow once, twice, thrice. Again. Hux is panting, now, sweat slicking tendrils of hair against his temples.   
  
"Ren!"  
  
He imagines the smell of him, still -he realizes with a sentimentality he would at any other time discard as almost perverse- somehow woven into his own sheets as the heaving base collapses over them. His lips tighten at the thought that this tangible thing, utterly lost to him now, could have already become the relic of a dead man. That he mourns this is catalogued for later disgust.  
  
There. In the clearing, the heat of the fissures has already cut the snow into patches, but the dark, slick stains in them are unmistakable. Hux drops to one knee, scours the ground for any hint of tracks left behind. Not much, but enough. Anything is enough.  
  
The hem of his coat snags in the eager, outstretched bristles of a thorn bush as he bears onward. He ignores the sound of fabric shredding as he yanks it free. More, here and there. A few spatter marks. A whorl of dark linen. The messy scar of a heel twisting in snow and mud. Burns in the tree trunks.  
  
When he recognizes the stark splatter of black and red as a human form, it's more by the feel of him than by sight. The warmth, the familiar weight against his consciousness, pieces together the jumble of limbs as a man a long moment before his eyes adjust to the sight. When they do, the color drains from his face.  
  
In the dim haze of blood loss, Kylo feels a dull thud at his side. Eyes struggle to focus, wince. Soft leather smooths away the blood pooling around the lashes. Warm breath in the air above him, the scent of expensive aftershave. His name echoes in his half-consciousness. Distantly, he hears his own strangled moan as arms slide beneath his shoulders and white sparks arc through his side.  
  
Hux freezes as his attempt to lift Ren drags a raw cry from him. He gives it a moment, then leans into the other man once more. Ren spasms deliriously in his arms. Hux curses and draws back. Ren must have thirty, forty pounds over him, at the very least, not counting the half pint of life Hux estimates he's lost into the snow.   
  
A pause to push dark, blood-matted curls off the other man's forehead. The redhead's sharp jaw firms. Ren will survive this or he will not. Trying to make it gentle for him is only stealing away valuable time. Hux bites down on his hesitance and rises. When he loops his arms under Ren's, he can feel the heat of blood soaking into his uniform against his shoulder. Ren groans, coughs through the taste of metal in his mouth as Hux begins to drag him back through the snow.  
  
He will survive this or he will not. There is no time for sympathy.  
  
Hux's breath grows ragged as he stumbles back the way he came, Ren's dizzy murmurs blending into the sound of snow and mud squelching beneath his boots. Every now and again, Hux is forced to yank the other man up and over a fallen branch or cluster of roots. Against his chest, he can feel Ren's body seize with each jostle. Is it getting fainter? Tensing less each time? Hux bites down on his bottom lip. The speeder can't be far. Once he's thrown Ren over it, he can make it to the transport awaiting them in no time at all. Just make it to the speeder.  
  
He realizes about half the way back that he's grinding his teeth hard enough to drown out the roar of the planet ripping itself apart. By the time the speeder's blaster cannon comes into view, Hux's knuckles ache, and his throat is hoarse from dragging in jagged breaths. He isn't certain whether it's him or Ren shaking when he finally slumps against the 74-Z. A steadying breath - no time for two - and he hauls the barely conscious knight's arms up over his own shoulders. Ren's face comes to rest in the hollow of Hux's neck. It's colder than Hux cares to think on, even with the raw gash running up across it. He throws open the throttle and crams his foot back onto the accelerator. The speeder roars beneath his touch as the pines begin to blur past.   
  
The drone of the engine is enough to mute whatever it is that Ren is groaning into his neck, but Hux can feel the heat of his breath there nonetheless.  
  
"Shut up." He spits, "Just hold on."  
  
Long fingers curl - surprisingly obedient - around the lapel of Hux's greatcoat. They barely manage to find purchase, and Hux gives a soft growl as he locks them there with his own.  
  
"Hold on."  
  
***  
  
It shouldn't be warm. Maybe it isn't. There are stories about freezing, about frostbitten travelers believing themselves to be burning to death instead. Perhaps it's beginning. Ending. But beyond Kylo's eyelids, beyond the dull weight of his limbs, there is a faint but consistent hum. The itchy drone of something mechanical. He can hear himself breathing, slow and measured. The air prickles against his dry throat. 

The rumble of a cough gathers in him. He shifts to release it, and sparks of pain explode in his shoulders, side, face, everywhere all at once. The cough becomes a stilted growl, and then everything is white in his swimming vision. His fingers are curling, scrabbling for purchase in an evaporating landscape, for his saber, for anything he can seize a fistful of. 

"Hold him down."

The syllables are clipped, sharp. Kylo gives a roar against the sudden coldness of a droid's manipulators against his biceps. Coils of the Force spring to his aid, and he can hear a series of bleeps and clanks as the droid is flung backwards into the wall. A second droid chitters in surprise, and Kylo sends it skidding across the floor as an afterthought.

"Enough, Ren!"

The voice is the same razor-precise tone. Kylo feels himself groaning. His eyes roll back as they struggle to focus through the pain, through whatever it is they've put in him in an attempt to keep him calm. His lips grapple with half-numbness as he strains out, "Hux..."

The sound of fabric rustling, a weight shifting at the edge of the bed. A small hiss of, "Quiet", and then there is soft leather pressing carefully over the breadth of his throat. Warmth. A hand, its energy and placement familiar. Kylo swallows and stills in recognition.

"Good." Hux murmurs. His narrow gaze flicks over the two droids in the med bay. He'll have them wiped of this before he leaves the ward, "Lay back." He instructs.

Kylo's muscles unwind. Hux’s gloved hand is at his cheek, now, the thumb hooked around his chin to stabilize him as Kylo’s gaze slowly comes into focus.

“She-…they-…” He stammers.

“Don’t.” Hux tells him, “You’re injured. The wounds will open if you’re too active.” One of the droids gives a few indignant whistles at this, and Hux rolls his eyes and motions it forward, “Stay where you are. You’ll not survive without proper medical attention.”

Kylo moves to object, and the pad of Hux’s thumb clamps over his lips. The motion sends a cascade of fresh discomfort through the wound that bridges his face, but Kylo stills under it. Dark eyes remain on the General as the droids return to treating various injuries. Beneath the comfortably familiar weight of Hux’s grasp, Kylo’s breath grows shallow. He swallows thickly. Hux’s gaze returns to him at the sound.

“What is it?” He huffs.

“I killed Han Solo.” The knight’s voice is dull, flat. Hux blinks.

“…I see.”

Kylo is watching him, motionless. Hux’s lips purse. Wordlessly, he shifts his hand into the man’s hair, cards his fingers between the dark locks. The knight gives a long, shuddering exhale. It’s only a fraction of an inch when he finally leans mutely into the touch. The soft whirring of the medidroids at work hums endlessly in the air of the otherwise soundless room.

  
***

Kylo’s breathing is ragged when he sweeps into Hux’s quarters, and the force with which he discards his helmet against one wall is enough to leave spiderlike cracks in the enamel. Already situated in bed reviewing the day’s records, Hux jumps at the sound, then frowns.

“To what do I owe the impressive melodrama tonight, hm?” He quips as he sets his datapad aside on the nightstand.

Kylo whirls on him, hair sweat slick against his temples, “Shut up!” He snarls. 

Hux watches him stalk the length of the room twice before he slumps down onto the edge of the bed with a groan. The redhead arches an eyebrow. Ren’s elbows fall onto his knees, and his fingers fist in his hair.

“Do you plan to speak to me?” Hux questions with arms crossed over his chest. The usual severity of the effect is muted without the angular shoulders of his jacket to bolster it. 

Kylo pinches the bridge of his nose, the smooth ridges of scarred flesh beneath his fingers another reminder of recent failure. His mind is a hypersensitive whorl from the night’s training, and even Hux’s curious feedback is making him nauseous, “Leave me alone.” He murmurs between his fingers.

“I see that your evening with Leader Snoke went well.” Hux sniffs. Then, an afterthought, “Additionally, need I remind you that these are my quarters? If you intended for me to leave you alone, you would have gone to yo-“

He gives a sharp huff as Kylo pushes him back into the pillows, savages his mouth with his own. Hux indulges the kiss for a few moments, then freckled arms swat at the taller man, "You can't be serious. You enter my quarters unbidden, throwing things about and growling, and then-?"

Kylo watches him for a moment, then heaves a sigh. He begins to undo his surcoat and tunic in one long series of haphazard motions. He's halfway out of both of them before he simply gives up, shrugging his way free of them and letting them drop to the floor. His trousers join them on the way to the shower.

"I'm not your maid, Ren!" Hux snaps. He argues with himself for the first few minutes that the sanisteam hisses, then retrieves the clothes. He mutters a few curses over the tight, even creases that he folds into them, then sets them on the lower shelf of the nightstand. 

By he time Ren has finished cleaning himself, Hux is already between the covers once more, datapad leaned up against his knees. Kylo slips from the other room with hair still in wet tendrils against his neck, and Hux wrinkles his nose as he slumps into bed at his side.

"Do you ever finish anything you've started?" He grumbles as he pushes Ren's arm behind himself to loop it around his shoulders. Ren grumbles, low in his throat. The warmth of his breath pricks up the small hairs at the back of Hux's neck.

"...What is it?" Hux murmurs after a few moments with the knight locked silently against his back.

"Nothing." Kylo shoots back.

Hux's brows knit. He peeks back over one shoulder to seek out the other man's face, but it's buried against his shoulder blade, "...Are you _crying?_ ”

Kylo lets out a small growl, "No!" He spits, lifting his face to glare at Hux. His cheeks are dry, but his eyes are glassy, red-rimmed.

Hux squirms to turn around in Ren's arms. He watches the other man evenly, mouth set. When Ren swallows, Hux's eyes trace the motion along his throat.

"I dearly hope that you are not expecting me to read your mind." Hux drawls, one eyebrow arching.

Kylo frowns, "You have no capacity for such things. Even with guidance. And even then, you'd never withstand the training."

"It's doubt, then." The General cocks his head to one side, "Doubt that you can. Doubt that you are. Withstanding it, I mean."

Kylo growls, and color blossoms in his cheeks, "You-" He begins.

"Don't be absurd." Hux cuts him off, "If Leader Snoke found you unfit, he would have you disposed of." 

The redhead shifts to push himself upright. Kylo stares up at him, lips tight, and swallows harshly once more. Hux sniffs and slides a knee over the knight to sit up over his hips.

"You're being foolish." He tells him, "Foolish to doubt Leader Snoke's assessment. And mine."

"Yours?" Kylo's dark eyes are on him, fluttering over his features.

Hux's lips twist. The idea of praise is foreign in his mouth, and so he gives none. Instead, he bends over the other man, pushes into the hollow of his neck and rakes his teeth over the spot just beneath his ear. Kylo stutters out a gasp, fingertips alighting on Hux's waist nonetheless. Hux feels them dig in as he bites down, urges blood to the surface. 

When he begins to nip at the knight's earlobe, Kylo flushes along the full length of his neck. Hux huffs out a short chuckle. His thin fingers come up to grasp at the edge of Ren's ear, give a small, nearly affectionate tug. The motion pulls an indignant growl from the dark haired man, but Hux lets his teeth travel up along the shell, and by the time they're plucking at the tip, Kylo is shivering beneath him. Kylo's hands are long enough to splay around half of Hux's waist, and Kylo uses this to pull the smaller man closer against himself.

Hux leans back in Kylo's grasp to peel away the tank he's wearing. Kylo arches an eyebrow when Hux lets it drop to the floor.

"You are perfectly aware of how I feel about your hands, I trust." Hux snips.

Kylo manages a small smirk and drags him back down to catch his mouth with his own. Hux shudders at the motion, responds eagerly with his lips, tongue, teeth. The corner of his mouth quirks up at the feel of the tip of Kylo's nose pressed up against his cheek. 

When Kylo rolls his hips up between Hux's legs, the redhead chokes out a small moan. Kylo takes the opportunity to sink his teeth into one freckled shoulder. Hux jerks down against him. His hips are selfish, grinding down into Kylo's, then he lifts himself just enough to scrabble off both of their underwear. 

"G-Get the-" He motions towards the nightstand drawer, then busies himself with grazing the birthmarks on the knight's chest with his teeth.

Kylo shivers, slaps a hand towards the nightstand blindly before dragging it open so hard that it teeters momentarily on two legs. He shuffles long fingers through the drawer's contents until they return with a small bottle of lubricant. Hux sighs in relief at the sight of it and plucks it from his hands.

Kylo watches the elegant line of his body as Hux draws himself up over him once more. Lithe hips situate themselves over Kylo's thighs, so that the knight's hard cock nudges up between Hux's legs. Hux wraps a hand, freshly slicked, around both of their lengths, and Kylo thrusts up into his grasp with a small cry. The redhead's slender fingers are tight around them, and Hux's cheeks darken as he pumps at both of them in slow, agonizing strokes.

"Hux," Kylo groans, reverent as he curls a set of fingers into his own bangs, "Please..."

Hux's lips purse in concentration, brows knitting as he allows himself a final, lingering pull. Then, he slides himself free and rises to his knees. His hand remains wrapped around Kylo's length, and he uses it to guide the other man to his entrance. Green eyes dilate, and Kylo can feel him twitch against him. 

Hux takes a deep breath and looks over the man beneath him. Kylo's fingers knotted in his hair, cheeks burning. The arch of muscle between the base of his neck and his shoulders. Pale skin stretching over the the planes of his chest and stomach, birthmarks flecked like spattered ink. Hux shudders and bites his lip. Without a word, he begins to lower himself down over the other man.

Kylo grits his teeth to keep from seizing him by the hips, shoving himself up into him. The feel of Hux around him, the heat of it engulfing him, tight and painfully slow, is enough to set the blood rushing through him. Somewhere, in the space between them, he can sense Hux swallowing his own eagerness. Can feel him shaking as Kylo begins to fill him out utterly, the pain of accepting him a small price for what comes next. Hux is twisting, whimpering into his bitten lip by the time Kylo is seated inside him. 

Kylo shifts to roll his hips, but Hux chokes out a minute, "Wait!", and the taller man stills once more. Hux pants for breath, wills himself to relax. No matter how many nights they spend together, the size of Kylo's cock demands adjustment from his small body. He braces his palms on the knight's hips, drops his chin down for a final breath, and then, shuddering, slowly nods. Kylo lets out a soft hiss, returns his hands to the other man's waist. Hux is hot to the touch, and Kylo guides him carefully into motion.

"Fuck..." Hux breathes and claps his hands over Kylo's. 

With each of Kylo's motions, Hux allows him a little further, until the knight is fucking him into rhythm. Hux's knees strain down against the bed to keep him upright. When he reaches between his legs to pump himself in time, Kylo feels him tense and shake around his cock. Kylo groans, low and desperate, and sits up. One hand slides into the small of Hux's back to buy him more purchase. The redhead wraps his legs around Kylo's waist in earnest, allows himself to be thrown and impaled with the force of Kylo's thrusts. He's biting his lip to keep from keening by the time he feels the edge approaching.

"With me." He gasps against Kylo's cheek. The knight nods, and Hux is undone, spilling between their bodies, stuttering and crying out. Kylo can feel the arc of it spatter against his chest, Hux clenching around him, wringing his own climax out of him.

When the last of the aftershocks have passed through his muscles, Hux sinks forward onto the other man, panting. Kylo's chest heaves against his, and the knight wraps his fingers around both of Hux's biceps to keep him from sagging into the sheets. Instead, he leans back into the pillows to allow him to sink in and rest against his chest. He can feel Hux internally arguing with himself about showering, willing sluggish limbs to move but unable to muster the force to make them obey. Gold-orange lashes brush against his chest as Hux heaves a sigh, settles. One hand sifts through the General's hair.

"Mmn." The sound remains trapped in Hux's throat, appreciative. 

_Good. This is good._ Kylo hears. He traces his thumb along the length of one sharp cheekbone. Somewhere within the space between their consciousnesses, Hux catches a glimmer of admiration, blushes and grumbles. His palm slowly opens against the plane of Kylo's chest nonetheless. Kylo says nothing about the faint note of returned appreciation, holds it close and silent as their minds blur into sleep.

 

 

***

 

ILLUSTRATIONS by the brilliant Phil! Check out his other fantastic work, including more delicious, delicious Kylux, at http://boredbyreality.tumblr.com

 

 


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